Good Dogs Together Go Wild
by zihna
Summary: "A werewolf," Finch says faintly, stopping abruptly. The very familiar wolf draped across the couch cracks open an eye, looks him up and down, and blinks. "Well, this is certainly the last thing I expected to find."  5 times Reese was the wolf, AU.


So for some bizarre reason I decided I wanted to write a werewolf AU. I blame this entirely on Reese's poor social skills.

I'm considering doing a whole, big, plotty werewolf AU at some point, but for now, here are some snippets!

Five times Reese was the wolf, and the one time the wolf was Reese.

Disclaimer- I do not own Person of Interest.

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><p>Good Dogs Together Go Wild<p>

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><p>1. <em>territory<em>

"A werewolf," Finch says faintly, stopping abruptly. The very familiar wolf draped across the couch cracks open an eye, looks him up and down, and blinks. "Well, this is certainly the last thing I expected to find."

Huh. Strange. It's not every day one returns home (well, to the musty library he calls home more often than not, anyway) and finds out that their business partner is a very large werewolf.

Finch carefully sets his files and Chinese food down and removes his coat, moving slowly and carefully.

Reese is a werewolf.

Actually, in retrospect, he shouldn't be all that surprised. Reese certainly doesn't _move _like a human and some of his behavior is…_off_. Finch chalked that up to the whole CIA brainwashing debacle, but he should've looked closer.

He frowns, making a note to do that. Surprises like this just won't do. If he'd known, he would have bought Mr. Reese something a little more wolf-friendly, not vegetarian lo mein.

"Wait," he says slowly, limping over to his currently lupine partner. "It's not even the full moon."

The wolf opens its—his, he is still Reese, just…fuzzier—eyes, and his expression is undoubtedly smug.

Finch smiles a little, dryly. "I suppose you're special, Mr. Reese?"

Reese-the-wolf wags his tail.

"Going to change back any time soon?"

Reese-the-wolf twitches his ears.

"So that's a no, then." Finch sighs, limping back to the table and grabbing his file. If Reese is going to stay wolf, he can at least hear their next number. "Danny Walters, age 37," Finch begins, going to sit on the couch beside his furry partner.

Reese growls softly. Finch freezes. He certainly _looks _harmless enough, blinking balefully up at Finch. He's relaxed, ears perked up, tail calm, teeth hidden. Maybe Finch just imagined—?

But when he goes to sit on the couch again, Reese growls again, louder than before.

"Really, Mr. Reese," Finch says, a little annoyed. "There's no need for that."

Reese gives him a Look and noses him away from the couch. Finch steps closer and he growls again. Finch steps back and he stops.

Finch almost smacks his forehead. "Territorial, really, Mr. Reese? _Really? _That's not even your couch."

The wolf growls, and it clearly means _my couch. Don't touch. Find your own._

Finch has better things to do that argue with a werewolf and he sighs, sitting at the table instead. "Insufferable canine," he mutters, and from the newly-claimed couch Finch swears he hears Reese laughing.

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><p>2. <em>stalking<em>

Fusco feels like he's being watched. Not a new feeling, especially these days, but this time the hair on the back of his neck stands up and he can't help but shiver.

His hands go for his gun. Is it the cartels, finally catching up to him? Or cops, figuring out that he's dirty?

Fusco dodges people and slips into an alley, hoping to double back through the network of alleys and narrow streets and hopefully ditch his hunter.

The feeling of being watched doesn't go away, and he looks behind him really fast, hoping to see whoever's on his tail.

There's a dark flash and he freezes.

Nothing moves, and Fusco warily keeps walking, checking behind him every now and then. Sometimes he sees little flickers of movement, but most of the time there's nothing, and he starts to shake slightly.

"Hello?" he calls. "Who's there?"

There's no answer.

"C'mon, show yourself! I'm a cop! I'll arrest you!"

There's a flash of motion, and Fusco squints. He freezes. White teeth flash at him, bared in a grin, and a pair of gleaming wolf eyes blink slowly.

A werewolf. In broad daylight, in the middle of New York City. Hunting _him_—because that's what wolves do, isn't it, stalk their prey—like it's a game.

Holy fuck.

The big wolf blinks again and then it's gone.

Fusco slowly moves his hands from his gun, and a soft, growling laugh fades down the alleyways.

He sighs, still shaking slightly, and turns around, ready to head home. Fucking werewolves.

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><p>3. <em>feral<em>

"Some werewolf," Elias's man laughs, kicking John. He growls, curling an arm protectively over his ribs, and glares up at the man.

"Got any silver bullets?" a second mobster says. His eyes gleam meanly. Behind them, Carter and Fusco lie still, unconscious and hurt. Fusco's nose is broken and blood trickles down Carter's face. Reese can smell it, and wild, hot fury pounds in his chest. The wolf behind his eyes snarls viciously.

"I do have one," Elias's man says with a nasty grin. He pulls out the damn bullet and the stink of silver hits the air.

John can't stop himself from growling lowly. His ribs fucking hurt and it's nowhere near the full moon, but the wolf is clawing to the surface, he can _feel _it.

"So, whaddya think?" Elias's man says to his partner. "Between the eyes, or should I let the dog suffer?"

The partner giggles. "Shoot its leg. Let's see how long it lasts."

Elias's man grins, loading the bullet. "Maybe we should kill these cops first, huh? The wolf seems to like 'em. What'd you do, wolf, make 'em your pack?"

John's hackles go up and the wolf howls, demanding blood. _No one hurts pack, _it snarls. _No one. _

The mobster grins. "How 'bout we kill the chick first? How'd you like that, huh?"

_No one, _John tells the wolf, letting it up. He howls, claws bursting free, and the last thing Elias's man sees is the blur of fangs.

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><p>4. <em>tame<em>

"So, werewolf, huh?" Carter sticks her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.

Reese blinks back from where he's sprawled on the couch and he smiles, showing her a glint of tooth. "Is that gonna be a problem, Detective?"

Technically, she should say yes. It's illegal to be an unregistered wolf and there's no way in _hell _he's registered, and besides, wolves aren't supposed to be allowed out to roam whenever they damn well please.

But she's seen what he and his partner do, and a registered wolf couldn't do that. Dozens of people—herself included—would be dead without him. (And her grandma always told her the old stories of the wolf-people, and they were never evil, only wild, and even what's wild is beautiful.)

She sighs. "No."

Reese grins widely, showing just a _little _more fang than he needs too—damn cocky bastard—and settling back. "I'm glad."

She rolls her eyes and flops down on the couch beside him. He stiffens, twitching a little, and a low growl bubbles in his throat.

Carter just looks at him. _A little territorial, are we?_

Reese glares at her. _My couch _goes unspoken in his growl and she grins, suddenly remembering one of her grandma's old stories.

He stops growling. "Carter," he says, maybe a bit alarmed at the gleam in her eye. "What are you thinking about?"

"Did you know wolves have a weak spot?" Carter says cheerfully, leaning closer. "It gets 'em no matter what shape they're in. It's right behind the ear…"

And before he can jump out of the way, she reaches out and starts to scratch behind his ear, right _there—_

"Oh my _god,_" Reese says, eyes rolling up blissfully, and that's the last sentence he's able to string together for a good long time.

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><p>5. <em>moon night<em>

It's a full moon night and Reese runs wild through the streets, snapping at birds, chasing scents and thoughts happily.

The other wolves smell him and his freedom and howl miserably, trapped in their pens.

_Stupid brothers, _he thinks, bounding down the street. _Letting yourselves get locked up on a moon night. _Even at his lowest point he never went to the pens. He let the wolf run wild, enjoying itself, and for a while his hurts were less.

He never hurt anyone on moon nights anyway. As long as people stayed out of his way he stayed out of theirs. He chased birds instead, alley cats, every now and then a car or two.

It is _freedom, _and the wolf aches to sing out.

Somewhere, the pack is watching for sunrise. They've laid out a trail for him to follow through the city—_fun! _The wolf yaps—and there's definitely something blood-soaked and delicious waiting at the end of the hunt, and he wishes they would run with him, but it's okay that they can't.

He has a pack. They're a bunch of humans (and one of them does not smell that nice all the time) but they are pack, and they watch out for him.

The wolf likes pack. Its happy, urging him to run, to huntchasehowl, and he can't help it, for the first time since Jessica he throws his head back and _howls—_

The moon shines brightly over the city.

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><p>1. <em>pack<em>

"A werewolf," Reese says, crouched over Finch. His hands are slick with blood, pressed against Finch's chest. "I can turn you, it's a moon night." Both men are shaking, Finch from shock and pain and Reese from fighting down the wolf. Fury and the moon sing inside him, howling, demanding the shift.

Finch wheezes, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

"It has to be _now, _Finch," Reese says urgently. He doesn't have much time. He can't fight back the wolf for long, and Finch is dying.

But werewolves heal faster. A turn now would save Finch.

"Please," Reese growls. It'd be easy to just bite him, but he doesn't want to force Finch into this life, into the wolf.

"Does it hurt?" Finch gasps, and Reese knows what he's asking. Will it hurt to walk, to run, to move his neck, even as the wolf.

"Only for a little while," Reese says. "The wolf heals."

Finch squeezes his eyes shut, blood leaking from his mouth. Reese smells it and the wolf inside screams its fury. No one hurts pack. No one.

"Make a choice, Finch," Reese says through gritted teeth. His fangs are coming in, ripping at his lips. The wolf says _bite him _but he won't, not if Finch doesn't want it. He will not be that wild animal. He is _not _a wild animal.

Finch opens his eyes, choking on the pain. "It won't hurt," he gasps.

"Not after the change is done," Reese promises. His claws break free and his tail squirms against his spine, itching to break loose. He can't hold it in for much longer—

"_Do it,_" Finch hisses, and Reese breathes a sigh of relief, letting the wolf burst out—

He shakes himself free of his human skin, and sinks his teeth into Finch's shoulder.


End file.
